


Bad Moon Rising; or, an exercise in Hopeful Deviance

by HexMeridian (myrainbowshoelaces), lasciviousWildheart



Series: Mad DirkJake: Furry Road [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 07:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7834978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrainbowshoelaces/pseuds/HexMeridian, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasciviousWildheart/pseuds/lasciviousWildheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ahahahahahahahahahah we're fucking garbage</p><p>But Homestuck's worldbuilding is magic and so is the beautiful totally plausible bullshit it allows</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Moon Rising; or, an exercise in Hopeful Deviance

Jake English is curled around his laptop, happy as a beaver in a woodcutting store. He holds the tablet he got from Jade like a game controller for a game he’s invested in, grinding the pen down into the surface of it too hard. The friction feels good in his hand as he scribbles, erases, scribbles some more. His brow is furrowed so deeply in concentration it’s a straight-up V, and his tongue is sticking out just a bit. 

Dirk’s been occupied most of the day with his latest robotics project, but something about Jake’s face -- well, everything about Jake’s face -- is a distraction. His goofy casual smile is the usual source, but somehow his intensity, rare but glorious, is even more of a draw, pulling Dirk away from mechanics and piquing his curiosity. 

“That had better be some high quality pornography you’re drawing,” he says, his tone casual but his intent deadly sharp and serious. “Also I’m pretty sure you’ll break right through the tablet if you push that hard. Speaking from my experience as a Master Artist.” 

Jake snorts immediately at the pompous way he underlines the words Master Artist with his voice, breaking his concentration only marginally. “You’ll be happy to know, Master Strider, that me and Jade whipped up a whole globbing shitting whopper of these things, and made them pretty durable to boot! I can be as rough as I wanna be--”

A crack from under his knuckles, sharp and audible as if on cue. He swears under his breath, but whatever, he just pulls another one of the like fifty fucking pens now cluttering his mess of a sylladex and picks up where he left off. “And you’ll be just as DISAPPOINTED to know, my dear chum, that none of what I’m drawing is pornographic or provocative in nature whatsoever!”

He ignores the nervous flutter in his stomach getting this close to the subject for a moment, then decides to step his foot just over the edge. “...Yet, anyway,” he adds, perfunctorily, matter-of-factly, like he’s just as focused on his drawing as ever and is not at all watching how Dirk might react. 

Dirk’s eyebrows go up, glad for his shades hiding the rest of his interest, and he leans over, like he’s going to look at what’s on the screen. “If it isn’t porn, what is it? Share your artistic genius with the lowly plebeians, why don’t you?”

Jake flushes--damnit, he should’ve known better than to test his luck where Strider and porn were involved. The man was an outright aficionado. And that was quite alright most of time, but that nervous flutter just shot up into full-scale panic for a moment.

“A-absolutely not! Out of the question i’m afraid,” he fumbles through his response. “It’s not ready for audiences just yet! And besides, I’m not even sure it’s something that would interest you, so…” 

Dirk puts down the robotic arm he’s been tinkering with, his eyebrows now lost in his hair. “Oh no,” he says. “You don’t get to deny Dirk Strider the only new opportunity for spank bank material he’s ever had in his life. I am a man with a finely honed palate for porn, Jake. A connoisseur of fictional cocks. There is no sexual scenario that anyone has ever created or conceived of that I will not be interested in. So-” He picks up the robotic arm and points it at Jake. “Share your smutty secrets with Strider. The thirst is vast and worthy of a desert.” 

“It’s not even porn anyway, I said!” 

Jake’s gut plunges right as his heart soars. On the one hand, that is a totally legitimate and believable little spiel that leads him to believe Dirk might willingly indulge him on this one. On the other hand, the countdown timer is glitching the fizzshitter out and ticking fast towards moment of truth time. He licks his lips. 

“It just, it could be, is all. If you turn out to be interested,” he admits. Screw it--at least if he gets shot down here he can be proud of getting things like this out there quicker. A thought occurs to him and he shoots up, his back creaking and straining in protest. Not that it stops him as he raises an accusatory finger at the smug charlatan. “And none of this hipstery detached academic interest! I mean like if you actually like the thought of-” 

Welp. That’s all the courage Jake has for that, apparently. He tries again: “The thought of…” the words sputter and die on his lips. He looks down at his drawing, suddenly worried. Maybe it’s too goofy or technically amateurish? He’s never tried this before, after all...oh, jeez. What is he getting himself into? 

“My interest in porn can be both academic AND personal,” Dirk puts the arm down and levels his gaze. “And I’m personally taking an interest in how you’re tripping over your words, like, drug tripping, peachy keen trickster lick the lollipop style.” He stands up. “Spill, English.” He’s enjoying himself. Jake being tongue tied is nothing new, but when it’s related to sex somehow it’s absolute fucking glory. “It’s storytime. Give me the beans. The dirt. The down low. What’s got your god-tier short shorts in a twist?”

“I’m not wearing my god tier shorts!” Jake interjects triumphantly. Ha-HA! A fact about which Dirk Strider is WRONG! Now he’s won, now he can definitely--

Definitely--

Definitely show him his fursona and be slightly less scared he’d make fun? 

“AaaaaaaaAAAAAUGH OH ALRIGHT FINE! BUGGER ALL! YOU SURE CAN BE PUSHY WHEN YOU MEAN IT, MISTER!” he rants, even though he probably wasn’t being that pushy and Jake is mostly just letting off a bunch of hot air. He rides the fumes to his feet, laptop in hand like a shield or a weapon. Walks fast and hard and storms past Dirk, making sure to knock into his shoulder, and puts the laptop down hard on the clean little table usually kept reserved for Dirk’s gadgetries. 

He lifts the screen. Impressed upon it is a drawing of a wolf on two legs, fur coat snow white with a black poof of dashingly spiky hair jutting out from it. He has a striking green overcoat billowing in the wind, and his tight white undershirt and tighter action shorts are swallowed at the entrances by puffy locks of fur. On his majestic snout sit regal and dignified square glasses, just like Jake’s own--if a little more serious looking on this perfect specimen of adventuring virilitude. 

Dirk’s pretty sure his eyebrows are never returning from his hairline. He’d gotten a taste for the kink stylings of Jake English in their time together, but this was new, clearly a closely guarded secret. Part of him warms at the thought that Jake trusts him enough to share this with him. The rest thinks it’s absolutely hysterical in the best way. 

He snorts. “Dude,” he says. “And I thought Jade was the only furry in the EnglishHarleyCrockerBert clan. What else have you been hiding behind those glasses?” He smirks. “What other kinks do you share with your paradox family?” He doesn’t mention the Nic Cage roleplay Roxy’s told him about. It’s safer to keep that away from everyone else. 

“It’s not like it’s a...sex thing, specifically! I don’t think Jade sees it that way at least,” Jake protests. “She just, we were sharing stuff about how we grew up and…well, just think about it! The nobility of the animal kingdom! The graceful, natural movement of fauna! The thrill of the hunt, letting go of all the complicated nonsense of human society and succumbing fully to primal instinct! It’s…” 

Wow it’s getting awful hot under his collar all of a sudden. Is the air conditioning on in here? He tries to pick up where he left off and notices a tiny dew of sweat on his forehead. Damnit. Ok so maybe it was kind of a sex thing. Maybe he wouldn’t notice? “You don’t see the appeal of it at all? Just all the...nature and majesty and wonder! I dunno.” 

Dirk’s smirk deepens. “Man, you and Dave should talk, turns out there’s a lot of closet furry garbage in the human part of the new world.” He tilts his head a bit, scrutinizing the screen. A thought wanders across his mind, then sets up camp there. “... I mean, sure, obviously I’m not mister gone native rugged chest-beating adventure time come on grab your friends, but…” he shrugs. “Sure, I can see how you’d be into it.” 

“R-really?” Jake tries to hide the hope in his voice, and fails miserably. “I always kind of figured you’d be too cool for something like that. But in that case, I was sort of meaning to ask you, if um…” dammit! Why did it have to be so hard to just get this stuff out with? He took in a big whooping breath and smacked his cheeks up, forced himself to get RIGHTEOUSLY FRIGGIN PUMPED as a true lad of action might! 

“RIGHT WELL, I was actually kind of thinking of drawing yours so I wanted to see if you maybe had any animals in mind! Or, say, affinity with? Or maybe you’d already thought about it and you had designs I dunno Dirk I really wouldn’t put it past you--” He only stops talking because the air mercifully gives out.

Dirk stays silent for perhaps thirty seconds, knowing Jake is squirming - because Jake is squirming, encouraging Jake squirming - and then smiles, falsely casual, slightly lopsided, trademarked and stamped with Striderian irony. “What, so you missed me making all the horse dong jokes? Sometimes the irony in a situation is the true sincerity of it.” He should be feeling anxious about sharing this with Jake, but then again his proclivity for certain flavors of smutty imagery had been laid bare for everyone in their session to see the second Arquiusprite happened. This is nothing new. “Fuck it, can you draw horses?” 

“Oh. Righty right, horses. Of course! I just never could quite tell just how sincere that particular well of irony went. Ah--hm, I haven’t actually given horses a shot just yet as a matter of fact…” He’s rambling, he knows it, but what else can he do? DRAWING a horseified Dirk might be good for a laugh, maybe even fairly attractive on a painting, but what he was trying for was quite a bit different from that. 

“So don’t take this as me jossing your interest in horses entirely, old chap, but...well, let’s just say there’s some irons in the fire on this one, and we wouldn’t want to lose them all by burning it too hot on the first go.” Did that metaphor make sense? God, Jake hopes it made sense. “Do you have something a bit more...easily anthromorphizable in your vast cultural repertoire?” Anthromorphizable? Was that even a word? He was making an awful mess of this, he just knew it. 

Dirk chuckled. “Hey, horsecocks are an acquired taste, I get it, it’s all good.” He hums a little under his breath, leaning back in his chair. “Guess I should be playing to your strengths as an artist, encouraging the creative... /juices/... you’ve already accessed?” He can’t keep the lasciviousness out of his voice. It’s hard not to let his mind wander as he eyes the work of art Jake provided. His artistic skill is rudimentary, sure, but it’s not like Dirk’s a fucking picasso or anything. “Shit, I don’t know, you could just put some cat ears on me and see what happens?” 

“Oooh….hum, actually I may have just the thing for that.” Jake says, trying not to let on how relieved he is he didn’t disappoint Dirk too badly. Someday, surely, he promised him silently--but a guy could use some training wheels on new territory, couldn’t he? And what training wheels he had: they popped out of his sylladex like tic tacs, landing lightly on his palm: A hair band with soft, circular little tiger ears on them, with a tail to match. 

Jake bites his lip, considering whether Dirk would be annoyed or impressed if he let him know he’d already thought about it--even if it hadn’t been planned out or anything like that. He decides to bet on a positive reception, since he’s already been graced with quite some patience and interest, and bends over Dirk, leaning on his chair to scroll and pull up a different file on his laptop. It’s awkward with the furry accessories in his hand, but he uses the extra time to hedge his bets a little.

“I hope you won’t think it too presumptuous or anything, I was really just getting in practice and we drew bunches of these, but…” 

He looks at Dirk with an anxious sort of expectancy, wondering what he’ll think of his rendition. Hopefully it will come off half as cool as the man himself. It’s hard not to notice him a little more viscerally when he’s sprawled out all long and smooth like that, but Jake steels himself. Not just yet, but maybe soon, if he got lucky. 

TIGER! DIRK, as Jake helpfully labeled him in what can only be described as handwritten comic sans, is raw muscle coiled hard around black cloth, the white fur of his underside seeping over his wifebeater just barely, hair close-cut and sharp. He’s holding a ridiculously sick katana that he’s brandishing defensively at a spider, and he’s got a really long cape that is black with orange stripes to contrast his own black-on-orange fur, and his glasses are huge and his square jaw is set in an impassive pout. Behind him is a tiny rendition of Jake’s own wolf, laying seductively with an arm over his head, with text reading SAVE ME, PRINCE! filling up a speech bubble that serves as Dirk’s background. 

Dirk doesn’t know where to start. He’s got questions - a lot of them - but his biggest question is internal, a little flare in his guts of ‘how can I hide my sudden unexpected but totally reasonable boner right now?’ 

“Tiger, huh?” Dirk leans forward a little, not close enough to touch but enough to breathe Jake in, the familiar and heady scent of him doing nothing to discourage his body from going into full on ‘fuck me please’ mode. He smells like jungles, rainforests, slightly musty tombs and unexplored caverns, everything earthy and dangerous, adventurous. “Do I wanna know where you got the accessories?” 

“We--I um, I made a bunch.” Jake admits helplessly--nowhere to hide under a direct question. “I figured they’d make it easier to...to um…get in character? Make the magic a little easier to work on my end, if I’m getting the hang of this right?” 

Dirk can’t believe he’s actually considering this. Well, he can, of course he can, he’s only human, he has fantasies. But he knows Jake, and he knows he’s absolutely dead serious. His smirk upgrades to a grin, and promptly becomes shit-eating. “You know this means you’re never allowed to judge any kinks I have ever again, right? Drawing fursonas is one thing, but anthro banging? That’s high level depravity, man. God-Tier express train to hell sin.” He’s still smirking. Obviously he has no problem with being a passenger on this particular train. 

“Aw, man, I just knew you were gonna make this sound so much weirder than it had to be!” Jake whines, though he knows perfectly well Dirk is just having a bit of fun at his expense. As long as Dirk is willing to play along, Jake decides he’s fine with being subjected to a little teasing. With Strider, actions always spoke louder than words, and Jake is learning the language too because he realizes the best response is simply to remove his own accessories from his sylladex and equip them.

The stiff fur of his wolf’s tail feels pretty nice, he decides almost immediately. The way he can get one of his little wolf ears to twitch is pretty sweet too. But it’s all so fake, so hokey. There’s none of the visceral control or sensation he imagined of it. That’s alright for now, though.

Dirk’s shaking his head now, mostly to hide the flush creeping over his cheeks. Shit that’s hot. It’s hotter than it has any right to be, it’s a fake pair of dog ears and a pseudo-tail for fuck’s sake, this is just embarrassing, but it’s not so much the ears and the tail that get him going, it’s the idea of them, it’s that Jake wants to make them into something more, something real. Dirk thinks about the things he could do if Jake actually had a tail attached to his body and he has to shift in his seat, has to hide the evidence of just how much he’s into it. Yep, straight to hell, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred boonbucks. 

Eventually he finds words. “Are those the Jade model or something a little more wild frontier?” he asks, his voice a little breathy, he’s trying so hard to be sarcastic but the only thing harder than his attempt is his insistent erection under the table. “Do they come in different sizes and styles? Puppy’s first Yiff? Knot Your Mama’s Fursuit?”

“You know, you could try not making fun of me while I actually try to get practice in. You’re the one always extolling the virtues of training and preparedness and everything, after all. Do you want these adorable fuzzy cat ears or not? The train is leaving the station with or without you!” Jake taunts, making sure to bend just slightly towards Strider with his rump, giving him a fine view of stiff, awkward tail wiggles. The fact that it was all so trite would only make it better in a minute, when he made it all immediate and real. If he pulled it off, anyway. 

It’s weird trying to learn the limits on the “Limitless potential of faith and possibility” thing. 

 

Dirk sighs and holds out a hand, playing up his exasperated reluctance in the hope that maybe it’ll make his dick straining against the fabric of his pants less obvious. Funny, he isn’t the hope guy, but here he is, placing his trust in it. Talk about a metaphor for his relationship with Jake. He’s grateful for his shades again as he eyes Jake’s deliberate bend, the swish of his awkward tail. Why, why did he think it was so damn hot? It isn’t just that it’s Jake, it’s that he’s a filthy sinner, isn’t it? He wonders if there’s internet in hell. 

He shakes his head. “Fine,” he says. “But if you don’t turn me back I’m gonna pee on the rug, cat style. I will go native, Jake. Dead birds on the doorstep, constant meowing, full housecat.” 

“Oh come off it, like we won’t both be confined to these quarters if that turns out to be the case. I don’t know if I could ever face any of our friends again!” Jake blusters, but immediately regrets it. For one, because it makes him more nervous. But worse, because it might spook Strider off. He presses the ears and tail against Dirk’s hands hastily, trying not to face right at him where the uncomfortable dent in his shorts would be too obvious. Shit these bastards were tight ones. 

“And in any case there’s nothing to worry about! I’m fully confident in my abilities here and this is going to go smoothly as a dog’s friggin whistle, you’ll see!” He says, and he thinks he actually believes it. After all, he’d done bigger things with less control of his powers. Now that he was getting the hang of it, why should there be any cause for doubt? 

As if to answer his hesitant confidence, Hope arrives--not in a trickle, but in a flood. 

Dirk watches Jake and thinks to himself that this is definitely a new level of kink for him, something a little more extreme than fantasy, an ascension to god tier sin. That seems to make it all the more appealing, makes his pants feel a bit tighter, his skin flushed with anticipation and as he sees Jake start to kick off his hope-powered transformation, he knows going to hell for weird fucked up furry sex with one’s boyfriend is so completely worth it. Satan was gonna give him a high five when he swooped in on his rocket board. He watches Jake’s powers swirl around him and he’s struck, as he is so often, by how unspeakably gorgeous Jake is, how he defies all logic and reason, how he can almost turn a man of science into a true believer. 

The sensation washes over Jake, unexpected but familiar--like cotton or clouds pressing in behind his eyes, a wash of white flooding the world into tunnel vision. A feeling like suddenly being woozy, or--no, like being multiplied, like his body was iterated many times in a drunkard’s idea of animation sequencing. Dave’s idea of animation sequencing. 

The thought of Dirk’s brother grounds Jake, brings him back down to his body, back to Dirk. But different, now. Now he feels like he always feels in the wake of brushing up against the Hopey Thing. 

Excited and ravenous, cocky and hungry. This will work, he knows it now. Just like he knows Dirk was watching his ears and the swish of his tail with a bit too much interest. 

Dirk is into this, Jake realizes--either penetrating through the inscrutable fog that was the man’s general countenance, or just shutting off his noisy brain long enough to simply notice what was obvious all along. 

Either way, he knows it’ll go down well when he undoes the latch on his belt and lets it spring open. “Alright, Strider. I’m good and raring to go on my end. You sure about this?” 

Dirk knows he’s staring now, he can’t help it, when Jake goes Full Page of Hope he’s a fucking goner and he knows it. He’d follow him to the ends of the earth and back, move mountains, change universes. Whether it’s life or death or an experiment in anthropomorphic intimacy, Dirk Strider is one hundred percent HERE for Jake’s indescribable ability to hope things into existence. 

He puts on the ears, somehow not caring if he looks stupid, managing to set aside the biting need to insist this is absolutely ironic and nothing more. They almost get lost in his hair, contrasting against the blonde but visible, the hairband part hidden so they almost look like they belong there. He secures the tail, now definitely feeling like an idiot, but persevering. 

He looks over and gives Jake a smile, almost confident but still sprinkled with nerves, with the hesitancy of one who’s always been slow to trust. “Let’s get furry.” 

Jake doesn’t need to be closer to Dirk, to touch him, to let loose and feel the white undo his vision entirely. When he takes his hand and pulls him close and bends to bury himself in the soft hair between Dirk’s shoulder and nape, when he wraps his arms around him and holds onto the sensation as the only thing left when the whole world falls away--he does all of that just because he wants to. Jake breathes in deep and the smell of Dirk is overwhelmingly, well, Dirk-- metal and oil and sour, sterile antiseptic, a clinical sort of cleanliness betrayed by simple humanity. 

Being close to Jake always feels right, like things Dirk’s never truly believed in before, things he can’t explain. It feels like destiny, like fate, like the conspiratory movement of paradox space to bring the two of them together against all obstacles, including his own stubbornness, his own failings. The hope though, the sheer rawness of it, the brilliance, it cuts through every splinter Dirk can feel in his own existence, strikes him to his core. It didn’t matter what they were doing, why they were doing it, serious or experimental or strange, this power he has, the hope Jake could make tangible and use to mold the world around him on a whim, it affects Dirk the same way every time, and gives him the chance to actually let go for a little while, to breathe, to let his layers and splinters and personas peel away until there’s nothing left but the purest form of Dirk, the Dirk Strider who can just be, just exist, just a boy who loves another boy. Who loves Jake, the boy who feels like magic against him right now, and smells like adventure, like sunsets, like plundered tombs and dense overgrowth, earthy and intoxicating and wild. Dirk breathes him in and gets lost in the sensation, wrapping his arms around Jake’s waist and tipping his head back, eyes closed, mouth open. 

The smell is so strong it makes Jake feel like an animal, makes him feel restrained and leashed somehow, gives him the urge to break free...or break in. A great thing about Dirk is the smooth collectedness of him, the promise of always knowing what has to be done, the guidance and the safe direction. But another great thing about Dirk is what he becomes when Jake gets savvy enough to strip all that away from him--the raw, furious, needy passion of him at his heart, and Jake knows in his heart tonight is that kind of night. 

The white glowing almost hurts his eyes but it’s too soft, too gentle. Not for the first time he wonders how it feels for Dirk. Just as suddenly as he thinks it, it vanishes like he’d dismissed it. Maybe he had? Maybe--

Maybe Dirk DOES feel different. Is that...bristling on Jake’s cheek? 

He opens his eyes and it’s so bright he can’t help but yelp and force them shut again--it’s too damn bright all of a sudden. Which is odd, because he’s sure he isn’t doing any more god tier bullshit. He tries again, squinting his eyes with a cautious grimace. A grimace that feels weird and long on his face, come to think of it. He raises his hand to feel at it and--

And feels soft pads of flesh curl around his snout.

His...snout.

His eyes adjust to the light at last. His gaze immediately shot to Dirk. Maybe it was that everything looks sharper suddenly, or maybe it’s that this is always his response to Dirk, but…

“Cats fucking whiskers” he breathes. 

Dirk looks the spitting image of his drawing--no, better. The cape has manifested, somehow, but now it just pools flaccidly around the black jeans pressed too tight against his skin. Which is fine, because--well, those jeans. The black wifebeater has made an appearance, too, but against the white wide chest of fur he was now sporting it seems almost uncomfortable.

Dirk has always been lean and cut with muscle, but the orange-black fur has the effect of accentuating every curve, suggested danger and quiet ferocity. It is Dirk, unmistakably, recognizably so. His glasses rest unnervingly perfectly on his wide snout, which slopes onto a friggin adorable pink nose he wasn't expecting to be captivated by. His jaw is wide and black lips trace the outline of his pout. 

He looks... smoking fucking blazes hot, honestly. Jake can’t see it under the cape but he probably has a tail now, right? That is so fucking sexy. Does HE have a tail? The question makes him realize his tail is wagging, so yep, he definitely has a tail. Do wolf’s tails generally wag? Whatever. This is flipping great! He did it! He wants to drag Dirk into a mirror immediately and check out his handiwork. He wants to go on a fun game of tag in the dark moonlit night. He wants…

He wants to get those shades off of Strider and see what his eyes look like. His pants and shirt, too, while he’s on that train of thought. 

It takes Dirk a few moments to wrap his head around what’s happening, mostly because he feels … warmer. Not in an uncomfortable way, just like he used to feel during rare cold snaps back before the game. Like he’s wrapped in a warm blanket, except the blanket is a part of his skin, not just lying on top of it. He looks down, carefully, his face feeling slightly odd, disorientingly wide, and he can see everything, can somehow sense everything. He twitches his nose and sees a small curtain of whiskers shift in front of his eyes, and suddenly the scent of Jake is so much more visceral, so far beyond simple echoes of ruins and excavations, it’s like Dirk can pick up on Jake’s needs, his emotions, his wants… his desires. 

He finally focuses on Jake’s transformation, and his brain stops, because there’s nothing in the universe that can prepare him for anthro wolf Jake. Not his wildest fantasies, not the drawn fursona he’d been shown, nothing had given him the chance to brace himself for the fact that he has the furry pointed ears, the elongated face and nose, and… holy fuck, he has a tail, he has a tail, and it’s wagging, he’s practically panting like an eager puppy as he’s looking at you. 

It’s quite possibly the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life, and you feel your jaw drop a little. As much as it can in this new configuration. “Well…” he says, and his voice feels deeper, broader. “Which Disney movie is this, Robin Hood or the Jungle Book? Maybe the Lion King? Fuck, did any of them even have wolves? Like, wolves with clothes? Was the Sheriff in Robin Hood a wolf?” He’s babbling, running his mouth again, it’s just reflex at this point, he can’t help it, Jake is in front of him and he’s a wolf and he’s so beyond sexy that Dirk’s only options are to babble incoherently or stare. He went with option A. 

“Ssshhh,” Jake hisses, raising a single finger to his face--and promptly slamming himself in the nose with it. The world immediately explodes into bright red agony and he’s forced down, cupping his paws over his snout. “AGH! BLIMEY THAT REALLY FUCKING SMARTS! JEEZ.” He fights the sudden sting of moisture in his eye and waits--luckily, the pain faded quickly enough. 

He springs back up to his feet a little too quickly and stumbles, caught by the balancing force of his tail. This...is going to take a bit of getting used to. Is he taller? Dirk seems, if anything, a little shorter than he always has. 

“I was ABOUT to say for once I really don’t care about movies, Strider,” Jake says, advancing on his APPARENTLY REAL TIGER BOYFRIEND(!?!), reaching for his glasses. “Come here.” He barks it, but it comes out as a bark, like as an actual honest to goodness bark under his words, low and with a sensual sort of vibrato. He blinks. That’s weird. That’s cool. 

Dirk ducks back, instinctively but with a primal edge he’s not used to, like an electric shock to his system. “Whoa,” he say, his hands (paws?) up. “Got the sensitive eye thing going on here, man, can’t just rip a man’s protection off, what happened to safety first? Be prepared?” He pauses though. It’s hardly the first time Jake’s done this, but it’s like the first time all over again, Dirk trying to hide behind something familiar, something safe. He does it automatically, has to train himself out of it, has to fight the urge to close himself off, because this isn’t anything he doesn’t want. Hell, it’s what he needs, more and more it’s what he needs the way he needs air, needs his heart to beat. He takes a deep breath, somehow deeper with this strange new body, and holds still, closing his eyes. “Okay, ‘m good.” 

“Nice,” Jake breathes, moving carefully so he doesn’t end up hurting Dirk. When his thick, fluffy finger brushes against Dirk’s whiskers it’s incredibly soft, and unbelievably exciting. These shorts are going to have to come off quickly or he would break them--this is really starting to hurt. 

He picks the glasses off Dirks’ face daintily, careful not to brush his hand too close to anywhere that might be sensitive. Places them gently on the table next to his laptop. Turns his attention to the cape and undoes the silly little string keeping that tied around his neck, watches as it drops to the floor and reveals--yes! There it is! There it is!

“Bro your tail is flipping fucking HUGE! HOLY SHIT!” He yelps, delighted with his--or Dirk’s?--handiwork, but mostly spectacularly pleased at the thick tail of muscle and fur extending over Dirk’s ass. “Also, you have an ass now, so that’s also swell.” He adds with a snicker while trying to pull his jacket off. It isn’t going well--accessories and key items aside, he hasn’t really thought about this part, and his clothes are way too small. He strains his muscles and hears several deafening rips. 

He almost feels bad. But he can just make literally anything, after all, so he decides to shrug it off. That is to say, he literally shrugs and brushes loosely at the tatters that used to be his shirt and jacket, allowing them to slip completely off. 

“You like my ass whether it’s there or not,” Dirk retorts, but his tone is weak. He can’t stay composed, he’s staring as his boyfriend literally bursts out of his own clothes, feeling that his own remaining garments are far too tight, too warm, everything is too warm and too bright, a level of intensity that’s overwhelming. His tail twitches, irritable, anxious, and the novelty of the movement makes him smile a bit. “Huh,” he says, doing it again. “Well, that’s new.” 

He feels himself smile and it’s a little unfamiliar, his lips not moving in a way he’s used to, but he doesn’t mind, he’s far too distracted, he’s hoping that when Jake moves again, he’ll make short work of what’s left of his pants. Thinking about it sets a low grumble in his chest, and he realizes he’s purring. /Purring/. Holy shit that’s awesome. 

The purring makes Jake shake, literally seems to vibrate him. That sound is incredible. He wants more of it. Suddenly it’s more than he can handle, too good to be real. He has to move closer, he doesn’t so much shove his skin closer to Dirk’s but is dragged towards it, metal shrapnel forced onto a magnet. He tries to press his snout in for a kiss, bumping a little too hard to be comfortable, settles for licking Dirk’s cheek and nuzzling him hard along the neck. 

God this is so flipping cute!!! It’s like, BETTER than getting to make the beautiful spiritual love of the Na’avi. Oh shit maybe he can try that sometime? Whatever, who cares, the feeling of Dirk on the long, wide, intimately sensitive bridge of his mouth is infinitely cooler than that. 

His fur feels nice under Jake’s paw pads, ticklish almost. The raw imprint of muscle tightly coiled under it didn’t hurt matters one bit. The sensation made him feel almost girlishly adoring, whatever the hell that means. He has a momentary flash of himself in Dirk’s arms, legs splayed dramatically as he rests in his firm hands and kisses him with his own hands set firm along his jawline. Truly worthy of hollywood, he thinks. 

His hands have taken his fantasizing absence to wander down to the hard leather of Dirk’s belt, and his free arm is wrapped around Dirk’s shoulder. He’s bent low over his shorter boyfriend, nearly hanging off him. 

That Dirk doesn’t even strain at the weight of him only reminds Jake of the ridiculous strength of him, the effortless way his shoulders carry his knowledge, his responsibility, his burdens. God Dirk is kind of a boss. But also that’s really hot, kind of wonderful, having someone who can just kind of take charge. Make sure things would be ok. 

Jake loves him, he realizes, and the way he realizes it is familiar-- From the first time, the same familiar way he’d realized it back when they’d just been lines of miles and centuries apart. When they were friends. For a moment there was no guilt or fear or anxiety at not being good enough, for a moment there weren’t any bristles of old memories and old hurts and regrets, for a second there wasn’t this needy, anxious desire between them. 

Instead it’s just easy, like breathing, like the excitement of talking to your best friend.

When he feels the fabric of Dirk’s jeans start to rip, he doesn’t even hesitate. 

Dirk never has trouble losing himself in the way Jake feels, tastes, sounds, smells, but now it feels like someone set a dial on the universe and turned it up to its highest setting, every colour saturated, ever smell a sensual feast, and all of them Jake, a differently-shaped Jake but still HIS Jake, a version powerful and strong beyond the adventurous and sweet boy he’d fallen for so long ago, an external manifestation of what lay beneath the surface of Jake English. Dirk knows this side of him, of course he does, but seeing it like this, feeling it tangible and solid in his hands, his paws, as he feels Jake nuzzle at him, touch him, it’s a kind of revelation, a reminder of how complex his boyfriend truly is, how he has as many facets as a precious stone, a diamond, no splinters to pierce and destroy, only the endless potential to be so many things, to be everything. 

Jake has always been everything to Dirk. He’s just finally getting the chance to see how true that really is, and the thought of this just makes Dirk want him more. His purrs deepen, turning into something a little more dangerous, more primal, a growl, and when he feels his jeans start to tear, straining against the tensed muscle and fur of his transformed legs, giving in to the press of his insistent and desperate erection. Fuck, he needs to be naked. He needs Jake naked also. As expediently as possible. They are making this happen. 

It’s so smooth, so easy. Jake’s nail is so sharp and strong the fabric gives way and unzips like he’s...well, like he’s undoing Dirk’s damn zipper, instead of just the thigh of his jeans. Pretty quickly tension and physics do the rest and they rip into a mess of tattered black denim, it’s so easy and simple to pull and tug at the remaining threads and bring the whole thing to his ankles. 

Dirk is hard and high against his boxers and Jake literally can’t resist, he reaches out and takes hold immediately. Pulls at Dirk’s boxers, almost gently, and grins with satisfaction as they come undone. He thinks for the first time he understands the pleasure of being Strong, of being Powerful in a physical melee sort of way, and he thinks he understands Dirk’s attachment to his sword a little better. But Dirk has another sword Jake likes better and he’s pulling the cloth free and clear from it now, gaining access, revealing--

Dirk looks down and his face falls. That is /not/ what he’d been expecting. He looks up at Jake, not sure if his expression actually conveys his disappointment. “Dude,” he says, the growl still in his voice. “That’s not a tiger dick.” He keeps going, pointing down at it with a thick claw. “Like, I’ve done some research, man, I have plumbed the darkest depths of both zoologically dubious photography and sicknasty fursuit boners, I have examined and studied the phallic majesty of the animal kingdom to the point that I could write a goddamned dissertation. This-” he points down at his dick, which looks remarkably like his regular human dick, still hard despite his indignance - he’s only human, well, mostly considering the current situation with the fur and the tail - and scowls. “This is NOT what I signed up for.” 

Jake stops in his tracks, his hands inches away from Dirk’s cock. Mostly, he’s just confused. There was an...issue? He slowly tries to follow Strider’s inscrutable logic. He can see it just fine. It looks mostly like Dirk’s dick always looks--maybe kind of bigger? Or maybe that was just his eyes? He supposes he’s bigger now too though, so that sounds about right. 

“I’m not sure I follow, chum. Why would you expect your dick would be any different? There’s nothing to improve.” He admits, helpless and curious. Maybe if he’s sweet enough Dirk will stop griping and let him get on with it. 

Dirk looks at Jake’s face, somehow even more earnest with those ridiculous puppy dog eyes. He hates that he can’t stay mad at him. He shakes his head and laughs. “Smooth, English,” he says. “Flattery really gets you everywhere.” He relented, pointing his clawed finger at Jake. “I’ll let it go this time, but after we do this I am showing you what tiger dicks look like, because I feel denied, man, I feel /deprived/ of a valuable experience.” He glances at Jake’s crotch, feeling his own dick twitch. His body clearly has no objection to the situation, even if his brain is disappointed. “You are too, assuming that’s your own dick in there and not something more canine.” 

“Canine…? Dirk I’m not even sure majestic wildlife HAVE dicks they just have like, fur, and cool claws and cute ears and stuff?” He huffs, a little annoyed despite himself. “I’m honestly not sure what the appeal would even be! How are they any different, what’s the big deal? I thought you LIKED my genthood until now!”

He tries to undo the zipper on his pants to make a point of it, but fumbles the button and ends up tearing the whole damn thing open along the circumference of his crotch, boxers and all. This wolf super strength thing is pretty hot, but it’s also getting kind of silly. 

Regardless, his punctuation is made in the form of a shout pole, his dark flesh-covered dong jutting proud and full-mast, the only difference being it’s draped by curtains of smooth and downwards-sloping white fur. He’s pretty sure it’s slightly bigger? Maybe? It can get like that when he was having a big day probably, to be honest. Still can’t see what Dirk’s damn problem is, however. 

Dirk grins, shaking his head. “I’m revoking your adventurer card,” he says. “Next time, we talk anatomy.” He doesn’t even feel weird that he refers to there being a next time, but it’s mostly because he could get used to this. He feels strong, tense, eager, and even the human version of Jake’s dick is tantalizing, glorious. If he didn’t have a mouth full of ridiculously sharp teeth he’d have already ducked down and taken to it with his tongue, his lips. “But don’t worry,” his smile widens, a great deal more wide than usual due to the added features that came with his new feline persona. “If there’s one thing I’ll never do, it’s complain about your junk.” He shakes his head again, leaning in to rest one of his paws on Jake’s waist. “But if you call it your genthood again my boner’s gonna turn into a fuckin’ innie.” 

“Bullshit and poppycock” Jake replis sweetly, a shiteating grin so huge on his face he feels like a halloween mask. “I could say anything I wanted, wouldn’t make the slightest bit of difference.” He draws closer, toppling Dirk over the bed, finally taking hold of his most prized possession. “You’d never be able to help yourself.”

And it is his possession. He can see it all over Dirk’s face, a perfectly willing truth, as matter of fact as the weather. His cock twinges at the thought, his stomach muscles clench in a hard shiver. 

Dirk looks up at Jake, the growl rumbling in his chest again, and he sets his other paw on Jake’s other side, holding him by the hips. He feels warm under Dirk’s claws, somehow more alive, more visceral than Jake’s ever felt to him, and Dirk feels a sudden need, a desperate ache to consume him utterly, to exact all of this power he can feel coursing through him, taut muscular tension, animalistic desire. 

Jake is his, and for once the thought of this doesn’t utterly terrify him. It shouldn’t matter that he’s suddenly covered in fur, has a tail, has all these heightened senses. But it’s freeing somehow, puts his mind at ease. He can’t hurt Jake like this. That possibility weighs on his mind most of the time, but it’s different like this. He’s more exposed than he’s ever been, enacting a fantasy they both share, but he’s never felt safer, never felt more comfortable gripping Jake’s hips, pulling him down so that he’s flush against him, letting the growl rise in his chest and filter out of his mouth, dangerous but not frightening. There’s no malice behind it, just a raw, needy sound, and it only gets louder as he feels Jake’s dick hard against his stomach. 

As he shifts under Jake, he knows what he wants, his cock throbbing. This isn’t his usual style, but something about this transformation, the way Jake looks at him, the way he’s so aware of how much Jake wants to be his, to be taken by him, it spurs him on, and he growls a little deeper as he gently but firmly angles Jake’s hips just so, adjusts himself, presses his cock against Jake’s entrance, shaking with the sudden anticipation, the tension. 

Usually when he’s in the mood for Dirk to take charge, Jake feels mellow and sleepy. Dirk taking care of him, working the machinery of their bodies expertly while all he has to do is lie still, is comforting and warm, makes him feel relaxed and safe in a way that reminds him of life before that awful fire. 

But that’s not how he feels right now. He feels alert and excited, nearly vibrating with desire for him, wants to focus on the weight and the effort of staying still on hands and knees, working deliberately to stay exposed and accessible, open to whatever tinkering Dirk feels like needling him with. Next time he’s going to have to remember to keep their tattoos imprinted on their fur, he wishes he could see it right now. Remember the delicious and exciting pain, the gentle way Dirk put the needle to him. It was the closest he’d come back then to open, obvious affection, and it still turns him on to think about it. 

He can settle for remembering the first time Dirk got dominant and aggressive instead, though, and that had been frankly even better. The first time he’d felt safe and comfortable enough with being a boy but not a man, not the dream of masculinity Dirk strived for but just a guy Dirk strived to be good for--the first time he’d understood them both that way and felt good and secure about it. 

For a moment he thinks about the first time he’d felt Dirk shyly working inside him and it’s too much, he can’t wait any longer. Usually he likes to keep things grounded, just get up and walk to the lube instead of exploiting his bizarre connection to the universe for the sake of sex, but who the fuck cares about that when Dirk’s growling is so loud and insistent and he can feel the width of him pressed against the bottom of his ass? 

Dirk is grabbing him, holding him down, and to Jake it’s as good as an order, as good as the matter of fact statement of You’re not getting any further from me for the rest of tonight.  
Jake can more than live with that. He feels the warm glow of the white on his bottom, doesn’t even bother to wonder how it might feel--he knows what Dirk wants, and no matter what Dirk wants results. And results he gets, he can feel the point where they meet now gratuitously moist and slick and ready and he can’t help but press down a little, an involuntary beg. 

Dirk feels the sudden heat, the sudden shift of skin - no, fur - to slippery, open, inviting, begging, and he feels the growl on his lips, bares his teeth. God Jake is perfect, he always knows, it doesn’t matter if they’re animals, playing at this anthropomorphic fantasy, or human and cautious and fighting their respective insecurities, he always knows what Dirk wants, what he needs. Dirk doesn’t know how he ever thought he could get by without him, without acknowledging the aching empty feeling he gets in his chest, in the different splinters of his soul, when they aren’t fully acknowledging that this feeling never left them, after everything, despite everything. 

He tilts his hips up and presses his dick slowly into Jake, carefully, restraining himself because he doesn’t want to hurt him, wants to feel the power without the pain it could inflict. There’s something to be said for a little pain though, the white hot sensation of Jake’s claws on him, and it turns his growl into something louder, more primal, a snarl, desperate and immediate. He dispenses with the pleasantries, the easing into it, he needs this, wants this, desperately craves this, he’s waited too long already, and his hips buck upward into Jake, burying himself deep inside his boyfriend, his lone wolf, his lover, the boy he’s dreamed of for years, for ages, across paradox space’s twists and turns. He pulls his hips back, moves them forward, and he groans, part growl, part utterly human moan. 

It’s like a lightning blast, like a supernova. Jake yelps and feels himself strobe, a flash of white pulsing off his body and fading in a heartbeat. Dirk galvanizes him, sets him alight, and Jake thinks as long as Dirk believes it he can do anything, anything at all. It’s too hot under his fur all of a sudden though, and he feels cramped and stifled in this bed designed for something less sturdy and more compact. He feels something alien and wonderful building in his throat, something he wants but doesn’t understand. 

He wants to feel the cool breeze to contrast against Dirk’s warm flesh, wants the night sky to cover him like a blanket, wants to breathe fresh cold air while he does his best to drink Dirk’s hot breath. He feels Dirk pull out and push in again and he whimpers, there’s a flash and suddenly his fantasies are real once again, he can feel the cold metal of the roof of Dirk’s house and the brush of wind wonderful all over him. Dirk pumps again and he’s forced upwards with an “AH!”, his snout shoved into the sky and he sees it--

Bright white and beautiful, a singular white dot in the sky. It reminds him of Dirk, somehow--cool, mysterious, pale and distant and watching caringly. It reminds him of himself, consumed in white, bending reality to his will as easy as breathing. It’s hypnotic, in a primal, instinctual sort of way--the kind of knowing that carries on through myth and legend. He knows the name of the bomb growing big in his chest now.

Dirk doesn’t have the first clue how suddenly they’re outside, how he can see the stars and feel the wind on his back, but he doesn’t care, he isn’t thinking about the sudden shift in scenery because he feels Jake all around him, feels Jake moving with him, presses into him harder, faster, bucking and growling, letting out snarls that have no malice but such passion, unfettered, unrestrained. He feels like he can do anything, do this forever, love him deep and long and effortless, love like breathing, love like a heartbeat, constant and rhythmic like the feeling of their bodies together, the wind in his fur, the sounds Jake makes in the back of his throat as he thrusts into him again and again, faster, rapid, unceasing, desperate. “Jake…” he whispers, his words more growl than anything, his claws buried in Jake’s fur. “Ahhh, Jake…” 

The air of the night sends everything into overdrive, sets Dirk’s nerves alight, suddenly he’s thinking in terms of forests, jungles, vistas, primal natural landscapes designed for love like this, sudden and unexpected, pure unadulterated emotion, passion, feeling. He feels stripped away, exposed at his core, barely able to acknowledge the irony of needing to be transformed to find that truth of his self, to find meaning. There’s irony there but it doesn’t matter, it’s an afterthought, a footnote in the volume of sensation, the tome of everything he loves about this boy, this man, this wolf-man, this otherworldly existential impossibility of this, the impossibility of Jake’s hope and everything it’s given him, given both of them. He thrusts harder, faster, more desperately, still growling, hungry for him, hungry for every sight and sound, every taste, every movement, every clenching of Jake around him, every yelp, every whimper. Together in the moonlight, lost in the sensation of Jake English and his power of belief. 

Dirk is sliding into Jake so fast he rolls forward a little with every impact, he’s panting hard and whining with every slam, pressing himself down into Dirk, trying to nuzzle him, trying to press himself in, he promises himself next time he’s giving them mouths that are functional for god blasted making out with. Just then Dirk brushes up against his prostate in just the perfect way and a loud sound nearly rips from his throat, half-made but nearly satisfying. Jake almost has room to think for a second but Dirk manages to keep that perfect angle once again--Aaaah!--, and then again --AAAH!- and then AGAIN and he’s lost, his hands are curled around Dirk’s frazzled, perfect hair and looking up at that white orb in the sky and AAAAAAAAAAWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!

The howl shakes him to his core, he can feel his cock spilling jizz all over Dirk’s gorgeous artwork body but he feels the orgasm up his spine and belly and deep, vibrating in his throat. When it lets him go he can barely think, barely breathe, he feels woozy and dizzy and Dirk looks fucking incredible even as his vision threatens to black out. But he’s still posed, still standing, still at the ready and willing as Dirk works his way in and out of him. 

Dirk isn’t expecting the howl any more than he’s expecting his own reaction to it, to the way it utterly decimates his already wrecked defences, slices through him sharper than his unbreakable katana, deeper than any words, any sighs, any softer expressions of love, of want, of need. Jake’s all over him now, all around him, completely gone and howling, howling at the moon, and Dirk sees him in the low light, painfully beautiful and full of a majesty that’s always been there, suddenly surfaced. He loves him, it hits him again and again, waves of the burning white hot knowledge that he loves every iteration of Jake, every instance, every existence, whether he’s human or transformed into this howling anthropomorphic daydream. Jake is his constant. Jake is his universe, his creation, his destruction, and he stops growling, starts whimpering, shaking, clutching, feeling himself coming undone with every soft acknowledgement of how desperately he needs this, how every inch he presses into Jake is one more splinter of his self burying itself deep in him, connecting them inexorably, human or animal or something in between. 

Dirk throws his head back and comes, filling Jake utterly and seeing more stars than the ones in the sky, his moans and screams both human and not, existing and intangible, expressing the impossibility of everything he feels for him, everything he has for Jake.. ahh, Jake, Jake! He goes limp, boneless, Jake’s name still on his wide predator’s lips, his heart still pounding, claws still tangled in his lover’s fur, and he’s owned, utterly, taken in by the man he took for himself. 

Jake slumps down onto Dirk, spent and used up and delirious with happiness. He’s still inside him, and he knows he must be heavy but Dirk doesn’t even seem to be bothered, let alone complain. He feels wet and full in his rump, he realizes with a bizarre sense of asynchronicity that he isn’t sweating-- he’s panting so hard he feels like he might be dying instead. 

“Holy fucking *huff* hell * huff* Dirk,” Huff, huff, huff, huff. Slowly the world gains solidity again, slowly he feels more solid and stable, rebalances in small measures. “That was bloody incredible” he finishes, and using the past tense is like the words for breaking a spell--in a puff of white he’s suddenly just Jake again, just bare skin and sweat and blimey its fucking COLD out here, especially with all that moisture going on downstairs. 

He could use a shower. And a blanket. And a nap. 

The sudden feeling of Dirk’s bare ass on the cold metal of the roof of his can brings him back down to earth, literally, and he shakes his head, squinting in the moonlight. He shifts carefully, sliding out of Jake, and looks around, a little dazed, confused. “... Okay, don’t get me wrong, that was some transcendentally incredible shit right there, but when the fuck did we get up on the roof?!”

“Um. I’m not sure? I think we teleported?” Jake replies. He hadn’t known that was within his capabilities, but it definitely didn’t describe Dirk’s skillset, so it must have been him.  
“Sooo...you had fun?” He ripostes, with maybe a little more swagger than he’d intended to have. He had been pretty kickass just then, to borrow from Strider’s bizarre vernacular, he thinks he can get away with this much. 

Dirk snorts, his arms tightening a little around Jake’s waist - because Jake is cold, obviously, he’s fine, completely fine, bare ass on can and all. “I take it back about the tiger dicks,” he says. “Would have been pretty difficult to do that with barbs on my junk.” He smiles, lopsided with the right corner turned up in synchronicity with the curve of his eyebrow. “Think you can hope us back inside, mister wolf?” 

It’s like his wish is literally Jake’s command, because as soon as he says it there’s a wavering white shimmer and they’re in bed again, despite the fact that Jake’s train of thought is currently veering straight into a wreck of flabbergasted horrror. “Barbs? What in hell’s burning fucking blazes do you mean BARBS??”

He laughs. “Dude, did you do ANY research before you started looking into this? Tigers have barbs on their dicks. Some fucked up animal kingdom way for them to, you know, get all up in a lady tiger’s business and make it impossible for her to get away.” He grimaces, shifting in the bed, slipping his arm around Jake’s shoulders. “It’s pretty fucked up honestly. Sounded creative and interesting in theory, but in practice?” he shudders a bit. “I can live without that experience.” He shifts a bit, kissing the top of Jake’s head, oddly affectionate. He isn’t sure what’s come over him, who knew transformation sex on the roof led to an interest in cuddling? “Still wouldn’t say no to wolf dick though.” 

 

“Well you’ll have to sell me on that one, I’ll let you know up front.” Jake mutters sleepily into his neck. He lets himself sprawl onto Dirk, lets himself rest on him, not caring about how wet his butt is or how cold Dirk’s dick is or how Dirk is probably going to start fretting about how gross it is and insist they shower immediately. When he speaks up it’s authoritative and matter of fact. “Dirk? I’m going to sleep. You can roll me off if I get too heavy.” 

Dirk shifts a bit, trying to ignore his instinctual urge to immediately go running for the shower, he knows Jake hates it when he does that, even if he does feel sweaty and grimy. Exhaustion definitely creeps into his bones though, weighs him down, Jake comfortable on top of him, and he mumbles quietly in response. “Mmmkay, ‘m gon’ sleep too.” He shifts again, barely, feeling sleep and Jake’s weight and his breath against his chest and he’s just… secure. Safe. Something else too, something unfamiliar, an emotion that’s probably going to fade away once the rush of everything wears off.

He feels content. 

Sleep comes easy and sudden, like a puppy tumbling softly.

\--carcinoGENETICIST [CG] started pestering golgothasTERROR [GT]--  
CG: YOU AND STRIDER NEED TO COME OVER HERE, THE SOONER THE BETTER.  
CG: WE SHOULD, UH. TALK.   
CG: IF YOU HAVE ANY LUCK AT ALL IT’LL BE BEFORE ROSE CATCHES WIND OF THIS SHIT.  
CG: BUT WE’RE SURE AS HELL NOT GOING TO BRAVE WHATEVER’S GOING ON INSIDE YOUR DERANGED HOUSEHOLD, SO YOU BETTER *HOPE* YOU RISE AND SHINE EARLY, FUCKER!  
CG: THAT’S ALL I HAVE TO SAY. I’M DONE.   
\--carcinoGENETICIST [CG] ceased pestering golgothasTERROR [GT]-- 

Dirk’s first impulse as he opens the door is to equip his katana, the sense of nervous danger is so palpable. It’d be easier if there were monsters to fight, but there weren’t--there’s just family, and the foreboding that he and Jake had fucked up very, very badly. He’s still sleepy--a sensation he’s definitely not used to. But Jake had shaken him awake roughly and already had clothes on, clearly freaked out, talking about how they were in such huge trouble. 

He still doesn’t entirely follow, can’t quite imagine how he might have pissed anyone off. It certainly wasn’t Jake that did it. Had he been rude to Rose somehow? Jake had rushed him over to Dave’s can in such a hurry he didn’t even know what had upset him so much. He’s hiding behind Dirk now, nervous and agitated, leaning on him for strength. Which, ok, is definitely not the worst way to start a morning. 

Or so he thinks, but then the door finishes swinging open and it takes him milliseconds to deduce exactly what’s going on. 

Dave is leaning over his counter, what looks like a gallon of apple juice clenched in his hand. He’s trying to make himself small, and if Dirk didn’t know better he’d have thought that was alcohol instead--he knows the look of a man who tries to drink to forget. Karkat is sitting on the wood dining table, a grim leader prepared to face a dire threat, palpably unhappy but determined to get it over with. 

Jade is sprawled on the couch and it’s obvious she wasn’t expecting them just yet, because she jolts when they walk in. Her lip quivers and she tries to look away but doesn’t do it fast enough for Dirk to miss her biting down her grin.

But there’s someone else who’s grinning much less shyly. 

Resting with her arm propped against the high and classy glass table that you’re SURE has never been there before, holding a martini glass for what must be ironic effect because you know she isn’t drinking anymore and that looks like fucking mountain dew if anything, is Rose Lalonde, one leg crossed daintily over another. 

Next to her, Kanaya sits prim and proper and neutral. Transparently neutral. Dirk knows her pretty well, and she’s not fooling anybody when she claims passivity and mature disconnect. She won’t get her hands dirty most of the time, but she loves watching Rose take people to task, because Rose loves doing it. 

He would already be terrified of what was to come, but they weren’t alone. Next to Kanaya, opposite Rose on the high table, was the only person maybe even MORE equipped to make sure he didn’t have another not-embarrassing day in his entire life. Roxy is a funhouse mirror to Rose, every bit as mockingly classy but with more of a playful, earnest edge. She’s sipping her, like, Blue Balls Forever Apocalypse colored drink, her lips curling into a gleeful smile around her martini glass when their eyes meet.

It’s unmistakeable. As humiliating as it was obvious. He and Jake are completely, irrevocably, royally fucked. Or rather, they had been already, and now everyone just KNEW that, and Rose is here to have a field day with them. 

Karkat broke the silence before anyone else had the chance. “Sorry,” he shrugs in a way that implies he isn’t really all that sorry but did understand. “She found out with fucking seer powers, I shit you not. She and Roxy flew right over and decided to just stay up all night. Keep US up, too, while they were at it,” he spits. 

“Oh, come now, Karkat. Surely there were bigger interruptions to your evening than a few hot girls hanging out and giggling to themselves in your living room? I’m sure even you could have slept through that if you were so inclined.” Rose replies, sweet like sugar poisoning. “Perhaps you were distracted by more, ah, wild intonations?” Roxy snorts. Jade’s shoulders are shaking with the effort not to laugh. 

Maybe, if he asked nicely, Dave would just decapitate him again.


End file.
